Sell to Voss or sell to nobody.
Kenna's words from Ysolde's wedding make me sit straighter.
"Then we adjourn for today," Pa says before I can answer. "We'll review the schedule tonight."
Chairs scrape as we rise, and clerks gather papers. Pa grips my shoulder on the way out, hard, and steers toward our rooms. Princeton passes without looking at me, which from him is a statement. Caden hesitates like he wants to say something, doesn't find it, and follows his brother.
I stay to collect the schedules.
That's my excuse, anyway. Mostly, I want a moment alone.
I take the long gallery back toward our rooms. Portraits line the walls, merchants dressed like kings. Every generation of Voss that bought its way to this point.
"Lord Oakenshade. A word."
I know the voice before I turn.
The Duke stands behind me. No clerks. No sons.
I give him a slow nod. "Your Grace."
He regards me for a moment. "Walk with me."
"I'm returning to my rooms."
"This won't take long."
He doesn't wait to see whether I'll follow. He starts down the gallery with his hands folded behind his back, and I fall in beside him. Refusing would make a scene.
I'm not ready to make one yet.
"That was a good catch," he says. "The dock fee. Your father missed it. No shame in that. It was built to be missed. Three sessions of standard this and customary that, and the four percent sails through in the middle."
He sounds pleased. Like a tutor praising a student.
"You read schedules," he continues. "Princeton reads schedules and treaties. Caden reads poetry." A small sigh. "You see my difficulty."
"Is there a point ahead, Your Grace?"
"I'll be brief. My son has attached himself to your sister."
I nod. "He asked our blessing to court her. Openly. It was given."
"It was given by your father. Not by you. And not by me." He glances at me. "We both know the match won't work."
I say nothing.
"No use denying it, Lord Oakenshade. I watched you at dinner months ago. You broke a fork. You asked after my sons like a man checking a perimeter. So let's not perform for each other."
He stops beside a gallery window. Cold air slips through the old frame.
"You don't want this match," he says. "Neither do I. I propose we cooperate."
There it is.
"Cooperate," I repeat.
The Duke nods. "Now, while it's still a courtship. A letter goes astray. Caden is recalled to the docks for a season. Absence does its work." He pauses. "Or perhaps something on her side?"
